


drops of jupiter

by orphan_account



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 'things', 5+1 Things, Anal Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Making Out, Oneshot, PWP, Porn With Plot, Star Trek AU, ahahaaa, chan is a cocky earth boy, u dont need to know about star trek i promise, u know how it goes, woojin is half vulcan/half human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-15 22:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21025706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: lieutenant woojin hates christopher bang until he doesn't.( or: five instances of woojin having it his way, and one of chan getting his. )





	drops of jupiter

**Author's Note:**

> i made this account to post my nsfw works separately from my main. if ur under 18 PLEASE don't read this; it makes me uncomfortable and i will dispatch my eight-limbed demons to haunt the underside of your bed and constantly serenade you with the new peppa pig album if you do. 
> 
> title from [ this ](https://open.spotify.com/track/2hKdd3qO7cWr2Jo0Bcs0MA?si=i8QIkkP2RmyJ4v059G2tig).
> 
> enjoy <3

**ONE**

Lieutenant Kim Woojin does not get irritated often. He doesn’t feel emotion often- not in large doses, at least. It’s not a part of his biology. Vulcans favour logic over emotion, prefer the chill of clinicality over all else. 

So why is he feeling so agitated? 

The answer, oddly enough, lies in the smug face of the Terran cadet in front of him. If there is one thing that never fails to rub Woojin the wrong way, it’s cheating. And this cadet has cheated- cheated on the  _ Kobayashi Maru,  _ no less. The simulation was written and coded by himself for sole purpose of giving Starfleet Academy cadets the experience of taking a loss while piloting- something this defiant Terran refuses to accept. The cadet’s ability to rewrite code is admirable, yes, but his reasons for doing so are not. 

Woojin clears his throat and fold his hands behind his back. “You have cheated on the  _ Kobayashi Maru _ simulation, cadet. That is unacceptable.” 

The cadet scoffs. His hair is shockingly, unnaturally blonde. “Circumnavigating the rules was the only way to complete the simulation. You made it impossible to win otherwise.” 

Woojin narrows his eyes. “Your lack of manners when referring to someone ranking higher than you will do you no favours, cadet.” 

“Bite me,” The shorter man replies lazily, waving a dismissive hand at Woojin. “What are you going to do? Kick me out of the academy?” 

Woojin glances down at his wristwatch. “If the disciplinary hearing goes well, then yes, that would be the optimal route.”

Woojin takes no small amount of satisfaction in seeing the other man’s eyes widen. “Disciplinary hea-hey,  _ wait  _ a moment!” The cadet yells, glaring twin daggers at Woojin’s receding back. “You can’t just do that!” 

_ I can,  _ Woojin thinks, taking in a deep breath of fresh air.  _ And I just did.  _

**TWO**

(TWO WEEKS LATER)

The disciplinary hearing doesn’t actually go anywhere, thanks to a distress signal from Woojin’s home planet- Vulcan. Woojin had found it quite easy to forget about the ruly cadet in the resulting panic. 

“What a goddamn mess,” Captain Pike growls to Woojin as they step aboard the  _ Enterprise.  _ “It’s suicide, sending a bunch of cadets out with us.” 

“We have nobody else to pilot the  _ Enterprise,  _ Captain,” Woojin interjects smoothly. “The primary fleets are out of range, and it is paramount for us to respond to that emergency signal. It is our duty.” 

“Doesn’t mean that I  _ like  _ it,” Pike snorts, giving the wide-eyed cadets a derisive look. “They’re children. Children shouldn’t have to fight wars.” 

Woojin inclines his head towards Yang Jeongin, one of the more promising cadets. Jeongin bows his head and gives Woojin the standard Vulcan greeting as he passes by, his eyes calm and focused. 

Pike squints after the cadet. “Is he even old enough to  _ fly?”  _

“He is only a few years younger than me, Captain. It is more than likely that he received his full license years ago.” 

There’s a long, profound period of silence. 

“Fuck,” Pike mutters, rubbing his forehead. “I mean, you’re what- twenty, then? But you’re intellectually probably about forty years old, so it doesn’t make me feel like a grandpa.” 

“You are fifty-two. At this age, seventy-five percent of Terran males have expanded their lineage past at least two generations-,” 

“Shut  _ up,  _ Kim.” 

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

The  _ Enterprise  _ is well on her way towards the distress signal when things begin to crumble apart at the seams. 

There’s a  _ stowaway  _ on the ship, apparently. Bridge officer Hwang Hyunjin approaches him nervously, eyes focused somewhere just below Woojin’s chest. “Sir? There’s something happening in the sickbay.” 

Woojin looks up from his PADD- he’d been trying to contact his mother and father, to little success- and adjusts his glasses. “What would that be, cadet?"

Hwang swallows. His face is pale, and he looks like he’s in shock. “Well- I went down to the sickbay to let Dr. Han know about the possible pathogen any Vulcan citizens could bring on board should we need to evacuate- and he was  _ stabbing  _ this person with a needle, over and over again.” 

Woojin sits up. “Was this person one of ours?” 

“I don’t know,” Hyunjin says, and then: “It was  _ purple.”  _

“I’ll investigate. Please follow me, cadet.” Woojin stands and steps around the command booth, nodding at Pike. The captain raises his eyebrow but says nothing, opting to turn back towards the holographic maps in front of him instead. 

Hwang Hyunjin had informed him of the situation; still, Woojin is taken aback by the scene in front of him. The doctor is visibly agitated and yelling, a handful of hypodermic needles in each hand. Across from him is a… person, probably, purple and bloated. 

“How the hell are you allergic to  _ everything?”  _ Dr. Han shrieks. “What is  _ wrong  _ with you, you demented little clown?”

“ Ji,” the thing says soothingly ( Woojin feels the slightest thrill of dread at how familiar that voice sounds ) hands raised and palms facing out. “I’m sure one will work. Just stop shoving them into my goddamn neck like you want me to die.” 

“What the fuck would you know about being a doctor?” Dr. Han mutters. He jumps in surprise as Woojin steps forward, hands clasped behind his back. “Ah. Hello, Woojin.” 

“Please refer to me as ‘lieutenant,’ doctor.” 

The thing- Woojin is ninety-eight percent sure that it’s a human being, now- makes a short, irritated noise. “Hey, I could be  _ dying  _ here. It doesn’t really make sense for you to start getting touchy about technicalities, now.” 

Woojin’s eyebrow quirks marginally. “It seems as though you are suffering from severe anaphylactic shock. While the state you are in is severe, I estimate that you will have at least ten minutes before you go into cardiac arrest.” 

Dr. Han stares at him incredulously. “What the fuck!” 

“Oh, geez,” the thing on the table gasps, eyes wide. “It’s  _ you.  _ I remember you.” 

“I have no recollection of you,” Woojin says simply, and exits the sickbay to file a report.  _ Nor do I wish to.  _ He does, of course- Woojin has an eidetic memory, and has never forgotten a face, no matter how badly he wants to. 

To his extremely mild disappointment, the irritating stowaway is  _ not  _ forcibly ejected into space. Instead, he remains on the  _ Enterprise,  _ even going so far as to make his way up into the bridge crew. This means that Woojin is forced to stare at his smug, smiling face every day. 

Not that this bothers Woojin, because he’s Vulcan before he’s Terran. 

(Still. Woojin can’t comprehend  _ why  _ he finds the cadet so irritating. )  
  


**THREE**

(SIX MONTHS LATER)

Third officer Minho stirs his mug of spice tea, lips quirked slightly upwards. “Woojin… you almost seem  _ annoyed _ today.”

Woojin’s well-manicured fingers tighten involuntarily around his own mug- a tic meaningless to humans, but a staggering display of emotion to his own people. 

“Annoyance is one of the more illogical facets of human emotion.” 

“Sure. So your bad mood has nothing to do with that dashing young ensign over there?” Minho waves his tea spoon towards the other side of  _ District _ ’s cafeteria, where a large group of young people have gathered to laugh and chat. 

( Such revelry is not to Woojin’s liking- not this early in the morning when he has yet to do his meditation.)

At the center of the gaggle is that blonde, obnoxious human boy from earlier. A short girl says something that makes him laugh loudly, expressively, head thrown back to show the curve of his neck. 

Woojin sips his tea slowly. It’s too hot, still, and it scalds the roof of his mouth. 

“Who is the blonde haired one?” 

Minho makes an approving noise. “Christopher Bang? The new ensign? The best in his class and the brightest, too.” He pauses to drop a handful of sugar cubes into his mouth, and Woojin nearly winces at the crunching sounds that ensue. “He’s a bit too cocky for his own good. Always in loads of trouble, but geniuses are always like that, right? Too smart for anything, or whatever. ” 

_ Christopher Bang.  _

The name alone makes Woojin’s right eye twitch. 

There’s something about the man that makes the slow stirrings of irritation simmer under his skin. It’s a feeling that is usually foreign to Woojin, and it makes him feel prickly. 

And impulsive. 

“I do not like him,” Woojin states calmly, and watches with mild amusement as Minho’s mug slips out of his hands and tips into his lap, spilling tea all over his uniform. 

“You don’t  _ like  _ him?” Minho says incredulously, not even bothering to mop up the tea dripping onto the cafeteria floor. “Everybody likes Chris Bang. Even the captain.” 

Woojin tilts his head slightly to look at Christopher Bang again, and almost blinks in surprise to find the young ensign staring back, eyes dark and expression unreadable. No- not unreadable, just something that Woojin has not seen directed at him for a long time. 

What shines in Christopher Bang’s’ eyes is the expression of somebody who sees a  _ challenge _ . 

_ A challenge you will not win,  _ Woojin thinks, allowing one side of his mouth to curl up into the faint shadow of a smile. Christopher Bang’s’ jaw drops along with his gaze, cheeks blooming into patches of red.

_ Because when it comes to challenges, Vulcans always win. _

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

It does not take long for the new ensign to seek Woojin out. He’s drinking his tea and going over the latest statistics report when an unfamiliar pair of boots kick themselves up on the table. Woojin does his best not to smirk and swipes to the next page on his PADD. 

“Hey. Pointy-ears.” 

Woojin ignores him and takes a long, even sip of his tea. 

Christopher Bang makes a frustrated noise and leans into Woojin’s peripheral. “I’m _talking_ to you.” 

Ensign Yang walks by, breakfast tray held comfortably in his hands. “Good morning, lieutenant!” 

At this, Woojin looks up and nods. “Greetings, ensign.” 

Bang squawks. “Why are you replying to  _ him  _ and not me?” 

“There’s something that you should know about Vulcans,” Minho offers, sliding into the seat across from Woojin. “They’re big on propriety and respect. You should try it sometime.” 

Bang glares at him. “Fine.” Heaving a great sigh, he laces his hands together. “Good  _ morning,  _ lieutenant.” 

Woojin doesn’t even deign to look up. “Yes, ensign?” 

Bang hesitates. “Could-would you-you know what? Forget it.” He pushes his chair back and stalks off, leaving Woojin feeling simultaneously confused and intrigued. And irritated, of course. 

Minho watches Bang go. The curve of his lips indicates that he is amused. “What on earth was  _ that?”  _

Woojin says nothing, because he truly does not know. 

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

Their relationship is not always like this. Like most living beings, they change and grow- and in Woojin’s case- they grow together. Days and months and years slide by like slides under a microscope; Woojin watches time pass with an undeniable feeling of  _ contentment.  _ Whether that feeling is from his job, the  _ Enterprise,  _ or Chan- a newly minted captain- he cannot discern. 

At this point in time, he does not feel that it is necessary to try to detangle these feelings of his. 

That will come later. Much, much later. 

**FOUR**

( TWO YEARS LATER)

Captain Bang is drunk, again. Had Woojin known that the duties of a lieutenant included transporting inebriated commanders to their bunks at unholy hours of the night, he would have resigned long ago. 

Chan leans against Woojin’s shoulder, eyes half closed and hair disheveled. Woojin closes his eyes when the shorter man leans up to slur nearly incoherent words into the Vulcan’s ear.  _ Patience.  _

“Woojin, you’re a….. real one… know what I like about you? You don’t pity me.” Chan sighs, his breath hot and wet and smelling very strongly of vodka. “And you’re so  _ warm,  _ Woojin. It’s so weird. You’re like a big, muscular heater.” 

“Having a large heater would be rather inefficient, Captain,” Woojin manages, doing his best to ignore the warm, solid press of Chan’s body against his. Chan laughs. “Ever the realist.” It takes a few tries, but Chan manages to unlock the double doors to his quarters. 

Chan frowns and looks down at his feet. “‘Jin? My shoelaces won’t come off.” 

Woojin sighs and bends down, deftly unwinding the double knots. “Captain, I believe this goes above and beyond the duties of what I’m being paid to do.”

“As my  _ lieutenant,”  _ Chan clarifies. “This is a normal thing for  _ friends  _ to do. Which is what we are.” He pauses. There’s no mistaking the raw, vulnerable little edge to his voice when he speaks next. “Right?” 

“Yes,” Woojin says after a long moment, “I think we are.” He inhales sharply through his nose as Chan’s fingers wind into his hair, blunt fingernails rasping against his scalp and brushing against his ears. Chan shuffles a little closer to Woojin’s kneeling form, interest piqued. 

Chan’s index finger traces the shell of Woojin’s ear, causing Woojin to shiver. Something slow and molten and liquid hot burns in Woojin’s gut, makes his own fingers tremble against Chan’s shoelaces. He quickens his pace, tugging a little more harshly at the black laces.

Chan’s voice is soft, quiet. “Do you dislike that? People touching your hair?” 

Woojin should move. He should stand up, back away, and bid Chan a good night. He should return back to his quarters and meditate. He should draw a metaphorical line in the metaphorical sand. But he doesn’t. 

Perhaps he is more than a little drunk himself.

Instead, he remains frozen in place as Chan continues to card his hands through Woojin’s hair, blissfully unaware of the impact it has on the Vulcan. 

“I usually dislike it,” Woojin whispers. “Vulcans do not encourage or initiate acts of physical touch and affection.” He closes his eyes as Chan sits down slowly, inch by inch, until he’s crouching in front of Woojin, eyes narrowed. 

“But you like it when I do it, don’t you?” 

Woojin says nothing. Chan tugs at a handful of Woojin’s hair and hums when the Vulcan shivers. It’s nearly imperceptible, but Chan has spent enough time with the Vulcan to read his body language and he’d be lying if he said the way Woojin was trembling wasn’t hot. Chan licks his lips; Woojin’s eyes track Chan’s tongue as it traces his lower lip, watches the flash of white teeth as the blonde speaks. 

“You’re turned on, aren’t you?” 

Woojin grabs Chan by the wrist, pulls his hands out of his hair. “No,” he growls, voice rough, “I’m not.” 

Chan melts under his touch, melts into it. Woojin watches with a small amount of alarm as a red flush makes its way up Chan’s neck and cheeks, soft peach. And then he  _ whines,  _ eyes half-lidded like he likes the way Woojin is manhandling him, and it’s like a bucket of icy water being poured over Woojin’s head. 

Woojin jerks back. “I must go. Goodnight, captain.” 

“Fuck,” Chan says quietly, and there’s a raw desperation in his voice that makes Woojin bite the inside of his cheek so hard he draws blood. “Woojin…” 

_ Self- control,  _ Woojin thinks, and exits Chan’s quarters, heartbeat quickening in his chest. Chan had touched his  _ ears,  _ had spoken to him in that slow, dark voice Woojin had heard Chan use on pretty creatures on alien planets. Chan had shivered under him, had looked at him like he’d  _ wanted  _ him-

_ Self-control,  _ Woojin tells himself sternly, and spends the entire rest of the night burning incense, meditating, and staunchly ignoring his raging boner. 

It’s only at lunch the next day when Woojin musters up the courage to ask Chan about the previous night. The man looks up at him from his soup, eyes wide. There’s a bit of broth near his upper lip. “Why? Did I do anything?” 

Fire licks at the bottom of Woojin’s stomach. “You made me untie your shoes, captain.” 

Chan laughs, sheepish. “I should really stop drinking so much, then. I completely forget all the fun stuff.” 

Woojin is unable to tell whether the feeling in his chest is relief or despair. 

**FIVE**

(ONE MONTH LATER)

Chan’s staff rams against the sides of Woojin’s legs, sweeping him onto the thinly padded mats below. Woojin blinks up at the fluorescent ceiling lights, surprised. Chan crouches between his legs and peers down at him, expression jubilant. “Holy shit!” The blonde crows, eyes wide. “I finally took you down! I deserve a medal or somethin’!” 

“I had no idea this meant so much to you,” Woojin replies, a tinge of sarcasm colouring his voice. “Perhaps we should take a commemorative picture and frame it as well?” 

Chan grins. “Oh,  _ now  _ you’re speaking my language.” 

“I did not realize that your language was anything more than a repeated pattern of monosyllabic words and raunchy jokes.” 

“You can’t just talk dirty to me like that,” Chan complains, glancing around the rest of the sparring room. It’s empty this late at night; not even the hall lights are on. “Come on, let’s go one more round before we hit the hay. Maybe you can win your dignity back.”

He offers a hand, and Woojin takes it, shivering at the intimacy. “At least I have dignity to win and lose, Christopher.” 

Chan raises his fists, a fierce smile on his face. “All bark and no bite, Woojin. Time to put your money where your mouth is.” 

“Your human colloquialisms make very little sense,” Woojin retorts, and kicks out his leg, hooking it around the back of Chan’s thigh. The force of it brings the two of them to the ground, where Chan knees Woojin in the stomach and flips him onto his back. 

Woojin has a firm grim on Chan’s arms; from his position, he could very easily put Chan in a chokehold and force him to tap out. For reasons that are entirely illogical, he doesn’t. Chan catches on to the strange tension a beat too late: Woojin watches as the Terran’s gaze flickers from Woojin’s face to his mouth. 

“You’re usually better at this, Jin.” 

“It appears that my mind is elsewhere,” Woojin admits. Chan narrows his eyes and hums through his nose. 

“Where is it?” 

Woojin remains silent and does his best to not get aroused by the way Chan is resting between his spread legs. Chan wrinkles his nose and leans forward, fingers sliding around Woojin’s abdomen. “Seriously, hey. Tell me what’s going on in that hobgoblin brain of yours.” 

“I am not thinking of much at all,” Woojin lies, and tries to roll out from under Chan. Chan, ever perceptive, moves with him, and the two of them tumble across the mat and onto the cool metal of the ship’s deck. Woojin shoves a knee between Chan’s legs and pins his wrists to the ground, effectively keeping the younger man from retaliating. 

“I win,” Woojin states, and Chan looks up at him, dark eyes hazy. “Guess you did.” 

Woojin moves to stand up; Chan shifts forward- and, almost entirely by accident, Woojin’s knee presses right into Chan’s crotch. They both freeze. Woojin can  _ feel  _ Chan through the fabric of their clothing- can feel the shape of him, the heat of him. It’s almost enough to make his heartbeat quicken. 

Chan swallows thickly. “Ah- sorry.” His hips cant forward, contrary to his words, and Woojin sucks in a quick breath as Chan very obviously grinds himself against his knee. This is uncharted territory for Chan, who has no recollection of what happened to him and Woojin in the captain’s quarters, but that is not the case for Woojin. He looks at Chan’s slack lips, the little red patches appearing on his cheeks, and remembers the utterly obscene way Chan had tugged his hair. 

“Captain,” Woojin says ( and Chan can tell how strained he sounds, he must be able to ), “I do not believe that this is appropriate behaviour.” 

“Probably not,” Chan replies, and rolls his hips again. Woojin tightens his grip on Chan’s wrist, unable to control his visceral reaction to the feeling of that  _ heat _ up against him. 

Arousal stirs in his stomach, liquifies his bones. In a moment of pure instinct, Woojin pushes his knee firmly against the now-forming bulge in Chan’s trousers. 

Chan bites down on his lower lip and makes a low, strangled noise that is most likely banned in several star systems. 

_ This is unprofessional,  _ Woojin’s Vulcan mind argues.  _ Cease this immediately. You have no idea what repercussions you may have to face should you continue this.  _

_ Holy shit,  _ Woojin’s Terran mind replies.  _ Holy fucking shit! _

Realistically, Woojin will have to make a decision. Clearly Chan is interested in him- if only physically- and it would be unfair to keep skirting around the elephant in the room.  _ What about  _ your  _ feelings?  _

_ Invalid,  _ Woojin thinks, fighting back the urge to sink his teeth into the sweaty skin of Chan’s pale neck. 

“Woojin,” Chan pants, curls sticking to his forehead. “Woojin- I-,” 

They’re saved (thwarted?) by the shrill sound of the emergency bell. It’s unexpected, it’s shocking, and it’s enough to cause Woojin and Chan to jump apart as if electrocuted. 

Chan licks his lips, stares at Woojin with wide eyes- and then his comm starts to beep frantically. “Fuck,” he curses, jumping up and snatching the comm off the ground. “Fuck- god.” 

Chan raises the comm to his lips and pauses. “Woojin. This isn’t over.” 

Dread nibbles at Woojin’s subconscious. “What isn’t?” 

The look Chan gives him is equal parts exasperated and aroused. “Whatever the hell that just was.” 

  
Woojin nods tightly, grabs his own comm, and gets out of there as fast as he can without making it obvious that he’s trying to escape. There’s a foreign ship in their airspace- far too close for command’s liking- and Woojin throws himself into his job, absolutely not thinking about the way the captain of the ship looked under his hands.   
  


**+ONE**

(FIVE MONTHS LATER)

“Woojin,” Chan yells, sounding both very near and very far away, “You are  _ not  _ allowed to die on me. Do you understand? These are direct orders.” 

  
Woojin makes an assenting noise- at least, he  _ thinks  _ he makes an assenting noise. There’s wet all over his chest and hands, and a faint, pulsing pain in his lower abdomen. The mission assignment, as roughly ninety-eight percent of the  _ Enterprise’s  _ missions tend to be- is extremely dangerous. They’re on an abandoned mining planet- not abandoned after all, as poor Ensign Karrara had discovered, and Woojin has a hole in his stomach and a strange, heavy feeling in his chest. 

Chan is supposed to be completing the mission instead of sticking his hands in Woojin’s stomach, and Woojin tries to tell him so. Nothing comes out but air.  _ Leave me,  _ he wants to say.  _ There are twenty-seven kidnapped children locked in a slaver’s hideaway. I am not a priority.  _

  
He won’t say it, however, because he doesn’t think that Chan will take that very well. 

“Okay, fuck me,” Chan mutters, throwing a look over his shoulder. “Woojin, you do  _ not  _ die, okay? Don’t move, don’t die. I told Jisung to go get the kids- yes, I know what you want me to do, and I’m not doing it- and I’m going to stay here until help comes.” 

Woojin can feel himself sliding dangerously close to the black, yawning jaws of oblivion, and makes the executive decision to put himself into a self-induced healing trance. Chan, unprepared for Woojin to go completely limp, panics. 

“Woojin?  _ Woojin?”  _

Using his last bit of consciousness, Woojin raises his hand to Chan’s temple and  _ projects  _ to the younger man what he can’t say- and in doing so, just barely brushes against Chan’s mind with his own. The result is shocking. Chan’s mind is practically  _ Vulcan-  _ it’s vast and warm and so full of light that Woojin’s brain hiccups. In this one accidental meeting of minds, Woojin can see cities and worlds and planets inside Chan’s head, confirming what he already knows: that Chan has a genius unparalleled to most, if not all, of his kind. 

Feeling surprisingly at ease, Woojin drifts off into a deep, vast slumber. 

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

There’s a faint ringing sound inside Woojin’s dream. This is most unusual- the dreaming, not the ringing. He hasn’t had a dream since the death of his mother. 

In this dream, there is the captain-  _ Chan _ \- his friend. He’s sitting in the middle of an endless expanse of wheat, the sun-bleached tips of his curls blending in with the vegetation. The sky is cornflower blue; this must be Earth. Woojin notes with some surprise that Chan looks very, very young. There’s a roundness in his face and light in his eyes that belies a child who has not yet been forced to grow up. 

“Hello,” Woojin says, voice neutral. Chan looks up, startled. “Who are you?”

Woojin thinks for a careful moment before replying. “A friend.” 

Chan laughs. It’s a laugh too bitter for someone who can’t be more than twelve. “Well, since you’re such a great friend, why don’t you get me out of here?” 

“Why would I need to do that?” 

The boy attempts a smirk, but it falls flat. “I can’t stand this place anymore. I need to get out.” He adjusts one of his shoes with a hiss, and Woojin notes with no mild amount of alarm that there is a large, purpling bruise there, wrapping around the thin bone of his ankle.

Woojin doesn’t have all the information necessary to make a decision, but in this one moment both his Vulcan and Terran minds agree that getting Chan out of this place is an excellent decision indeed. “I will take you,” he says, and Chan’s jaw drops, like he wasn’t expecting anybody to actually agree with him. “How do you feel about starships?” 

“I want to  _ fly  _ one,” Chan breathes, standing on shaky legs. The look of determination on his face is commendable. “I want to  _ own  _ one.”

“You will,” Woojin promises, perhaps a touch too emotional. The resulting look of pure, unadulterated hope on the boy’s face is enough to make Woojin’s heart ache. 

And then he wakes up. Slowly. It feels like he’s been shot and beat up, which he has. Coming out of a meditative trance is never a pleasant experience, but it’s far more appealing than the alternative. He’s vaguely aware of machinery slowly beeping to his right, and a warm, soothing presence to his left. 

It takes a herculean effort to pry open his eyelids, but Woojin does. His left forefinger twitches slightly. Chan is sleeping on the cot right next to him, long eyelashes brushing his his cheek. In the odd fluorescent lights of the sickbay, he looks almost transcendent. Woojin sits up slowly and takes inventory of his pain level. It’s not as bad as he’d anticipated. 

Something squeezes his palm; startled and flustered, Woojin looks down to find Chan’s fingers threaded through his. Chan is oblivious to the intimacy of holding hands- he always has been, for Woojin hasn’t had the heart or guts to tell him- but Woojin does. 

To Vulcans, this is a kiss, reserved only for  _ t’hy’la.  _

Heat prickles the tips of Woojin’s ears. He does his best to detangle his fingers from Chan’s, but the younger man only holds on tighter, each brush of skin against skin sending an uncomfortably hot flush up Woojin’s arm. 

He tugs a little harder- maybe a little too hard, because at some point Chan’s eyelids open and he looks up at Woojin with an exhausted, dopey smile. “Hey. Look who didn’t die.” The naked affection in the younger man's voice hurts. 

“I did not, captain.” 

Chan narrows his eyes. “I’m off-duty. You can drop the formalities, Woojin.” 

Woojin bites back an exasperated huff. “I did not,  _ Chan.”  _

“Oh, was that  _ irritation  _ I just heard in your voice? How very un-Vulcan of you.” 

“You must have been mistaken. I see no reason why anyone would be irritated by your presence. You have so many redeeming qualities.” 

Chan gawks at him and props himself up on one elbow. “That… that was a joke. You just made a joke.” 

Woojin arches an eyebrow. “Did I?” 

And there’s that blush again. Woojin is growing increasingly fond of it. 

Dr. Han walks in, a cluster of hyposprays in each hand. “You’re awake? Good. I have some tests to run.” 

Woojin eyes the medical instruments in his hands with mild trepidation. “There’s no need for any tests, doctor. My body is almost entirely healed. Vulcan biology has a specific way of healing that modern science has not yet discovered-,” 

“Tests,” Dr. Han insists, eyes gleaming. “Now.” 

Woojin and Chan exchange a resigned look. 

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

“I  _ guess  _ you’re fine, hobgoblin. But just to be safe, no work for the next week, and absolutely  _ no  _ heavy physical activity.” 

Woojin nods. “Understood, doctor.” 

“Can we  _ go  _ now?” Chan whines. “I’m  _ tired.  _ It’s late.” 

Dr. Han flicks Chan on the forehead. “Fine. But I want Woojin back in here for a check up  _ tomorrow.”  _

“Fine, fine.” Chan wrinkles his nose. “Let’s go, Jin.” 

Woojin moves slowly. He feels fine, but he’s still slightly disoriented. Scraps of sleep and fog whirl around his head, throwing him off balance. Chan, ever perceptive, places a hand at the small of his back to offer support. “How about we go back to my quarters? They’re closer.” 

“That is acceptable,” Woojin agrees, fighting back the shiver that threatens to work his way up his spine.” He does his best not to notice the strange, eager tension hanging in the air between them. Nothing will come of acting on that tension- not today, at least. 

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

Vulcans are not usually incorrect. Woojin can’t even be irritated that he is- not with Chan standing so close, his shirt unbuttoned to the collarbone and the room around them dark and quiet. 

“We could go to sleep,” Chan says weakly. There’s a toothbrush held loosely in his right hand. 

“We should,” Woojin agrees, unable to tear his gaze away. Chan swallows and nods before stepping into the bathroom, closing the door with a faint  _ click.  _

Woojin deliberates for a split second before reaching out for the bathroom door and grasping the handle. Almost at the same time, Chan pulls the door open and steps forward, causing the two of them to tumble against each other. At this close proximity, Woojin can feel Chan’s heart beating a quick rabbit-like pace: fast and erratic. 

“Uh, hey,” Chan murmurs, expression unreadable. 

Woojin blinks rapidly. “Hello.” 

Chan’s mouth flattens into a thin line. He has, it seems, reached the end of his metaphorical rope. “You know what? I-fuck it. I’m going to kiss you. Can I kiss you?” 

“I- we-yes,” Woojin blurts, and Chan grabs him by the labels and pulls him down into a ravenous, blistering kiss, effectively turning off Woojin’s brain and flipping the switch on his dick. They stumble into the little bathroom, sending shampoo bottles and barrettes flying. 

Woojin can’t help himself. His self-restraint is entirely and utterly shot. He presses the palm of his hand against Chan’s crotch and the younger man jerks up into it, breathing heavily. “Don’t you stop, Woojin. Don’t you fucking stop.” 

  
“I will not,” Woojin affirms, and rubs his thumb against the clothed head of Chan’s cock, quietly marveling at the way Chan undulates and slides under him. Chan moans and covers his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes hazy. 

Han’s words ring in his head:  _ absolutely no heavy physical activity.  _ Woojin hesitates, hands stilling over the bulge in Chan’s jeans. 

“Woojin,” Chan pants, hands fluttering at his sides, “Please- I’m-,” 

Woojin’s vision narrows. All he can see is Chan: the arch of his back, the way his head hits the bathroom mirror when Woojin slides his hands under his thighs and places him on the counter. He feels detached from his body, skeptical to the reality of the situation: that this is finally, finally happening. 

_ My apologies, doctor.  _

He leans in a licks a stripe up Chan’s throat, sinks his teeth into the spot between Chan’s jaw and ear. Chan makes a mewling noise and slides his hands under Woojin’s shirt, hot skin against hot skin. 

“I’ve wanted this,” Chan gasps, eyelashes fluttering when Woojin ghosts a hand over the tent of his pants, “For a very,  _ very  _ long time.” 

“I am aware,” Woojin replies, voice strained. “You are not… you are not the only one.” 

Chan pauses in unbuckling Woojin’s belt, swollen lips slack, and pulls him in with both hands for a hot, messy kiss. Chan kisses like he lives: hungry, passionate, and with an undeniable desperation. Woojin sighs and bites down on Chan’s lip, eliciting a soft moan from the younger man. It’s  _ nasty,  _ it’s inappropriate, and Woojin wants it, shudders with each brush of Chan’s tongue against his. 

The wet heat is good, so good, but it’s not enough for Woojin, who wants to press himself up against Chan so tightly that he’ll lose any and all sense of himself, so he picks Chan up and carries him over to the bed, careful not to trip over the papers scattered on the floor. 

He’s so intent on pulling off Chan’s uniform that he misses Chan pulling one of Woojin’s hands up to his lips. Chan slides two of Woojin’s fingers into the velvet of his mouth, tongue curling around them. The pleasure of it is so intense that Woojin’s brain short circuits. The low noise that tumbles out of his mouth takes the both of them by surprise. 

“You like that, don’t you?” Chan asks hoarsely. A line of spit slides from the corner of his mouth, and Woojin’s pants tighten in response. He unfastens the last two buttons of Chan’s dress shirt with one hand and slides it off. Chan’s torso is not unmarked. Fine white scars and patches of puckered skin wrap around his ribs and chest- an indication of a life with many, many journeys. Woojin bends down and sucks a bruise into the space beneath Chan’s belly button; Chan squirms and bites down on Woojin’s fingers, sending a hot spark of pleasure-pain right to Woojin’s cock. 

He works at Chan’s abdomen until there’s no blank space left, and then he pulls Chan’s trousers off so roughly that the buttons pop off. 

Chan gives a breathless little laugh. “I can’t be the- ah- only one without clothes. That’s not fair.” 

“I did not realize that there were rules,” Woojin retorts, but strips himself of his clothing all the same. Chan hums and runs a hand down Woojin’s chest. “Much better.” 

Woojin has never been a particularly religious person, but watching Chan work his own fingers into his ass makes him- even if just for that moment- believe in a god. This is a side of Chan Woojin has never fully seen before, and it’s a side of him that Woojin doesn’t want anyone else to see. 

_ You are mine,  _ Woojin thinks, licking into Chan’s swollen mouth.  _ Mine.  _

“Have you done this before?” Chan asks quietly. There’s a flush on his chest and a hungry look in his eyes. Woojin falters. “Yes. Not with a man, however.” 

Chan twists his fingers inside himself and sighs, tilting his head back to expose a long, unblemished column of neck. “That’s-uh-fine. I’ll do the work this time, okay?” 

Woojin makes a strangled noise as Chan throws one leg over Woojin and straddles his lap, rubbing their cocks together in a slow, wet movement. It sends sparks up Woojin’s sides; all he can do is watch as Chan positions himself and sinks down onto Woojin, enveloping his member in a tight, sopping heat. It’s so painfully pleasurable that Woojin nearly whites out. Chan lifts up and then slides back down, thighs quivering, and the sensation punches a groan out of Woojin’s chest. 

“You’re bigger than my fingers,” Chan bites out. There’s a drop of blood beading on his lower lip from how hard he’s biting it; Woojin leans in and licks it off, trails his mouth down Chan’s neck and to his nipples. Chan whines and  _ grinds  _ down, his fingers fisting and curling in Woojin’s silky hair. “ _ Fuck-  _ god, Woojin, you’re so  _ good.”  _

“Only for you,” Woojin promises, and rolls his hips up when Chan brings his down, causing the both of them to cry out. His hands rise to Chan’s temple on their own, projecting everything to Chan- all the memories of their first meeting, all the times that Woojin had been forced to refrain from smiling because of Chan. 

Chan projects, too: late nights with the thought of Woojin eating away at him, a fire with only his hands to put out. Catching Woojin’s rare smiles and sly, subtle jabs and storing them away for bad days. There’s so much,  _ so  _ much- but above it all is love, pure and overwhelming like nothing Woojin has ever felt before. The current of it pulls at Woojin like a riptide, takes him under and sends him flying sideways. 

“Aha,” Chan breathes, and tucks his face into the crook of Woojin’s salt-slick neck. Woojin likes the feeling of Chan’s lips brushing against his skin. “I knew you liked me. Han owes me fifteen dollars.” 

Woojin pauses from sucking a bruise into the swell of Chan’s shoulder. “You bet on me.” 

“Mmm, technically. If you’d just told me we wouldn’t have made the deal, though.” 

Woojin grips Chan’s thighs hard enough to bruise. “That would not be the Vulcan way.” 

Chan laugh-moans. “And what might that be?” 

Woojin repositions himself and throws one of Chan’s legs over his shoulder with an uncharacteristically brazen grin. “ _ This  _ is.” 

“Oh my,” Chan says faintly, not looking worried at all. “I’m terrified. Just shaking in terr- oh,  _ fuck yes-,”  _

They don’t talk much after that. 

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

Dr. Han stares at them when they walk into the sickbay. ”You know what? I’m not even going to fucking comment on the animal bites on your neck, Chan. You’ll probably need a rabies shot for those, Jesus H. Christ.” 

Chan flushes prettily and tugs at the collar of his uniform in a vain attempt to hide the hickies Woojin has put there. Woojin brushes the back of his hand affectionately and steps forward. 

“Dr. Han, I believe you already have. Perhaps, if you are so concerned about the captain, you would like to educate him on the importance of safe sex instead?” 

Dr. Han chokes on his coffee; Chan laughs, smile wide and warm, and Woojin can’t help but feel like he could live the rest of his life like this. Right here on the  _ Enterprise,  _ with Chan.  _ T’hy’la.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> well.... yeah. 
> 
> feel free to chastise/scream/laugh at me in the comments here or on my[ twt ](https://twitter.com/ClTYJUNGLE) [ cc ](https://curiouscat.me/moontide): again, 18+ only, please! you'll be blocked and plagued by the undead otherwise. 
> 
> have a good one :)


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